Chapter 45 Demon

Chapter 45 Demon
"Out, out, foul demon!" shouted Malcolm as he raised the whip and began slashing me across the legs.
Handcuffed to a post in the barn, there was little I could do to get out of the way of those merciless strikes, each one ripping open my flesh in a searing wave of pain. I screamed and I sobbed, but Malcolm had worked himself up into too much of a frenzy to heed my cries.
"Not the stomach, no, no! Got to protect the baby!" said Malcolm, a crazed look in his eye as he continued to lash my legs.
It was at that moment that all the remaining respect and admiration I'd once had for him disappeared. Malcolm was no father figure, imparting his wisdom to me as an act of love, but a person who had completely lost control of himself, a gibbering madman.
"Woohoo!" excitedly shouted Malcolm, a devilish grin on his face. "Can you feel that evil flowing out of you?"
No, but one glance down made me nearly pass out from all the blood streaming from the dozens of cuts he had inflicted on my legs.
"This is exciting!" declared Malcolm, pausing to catch his breath.
Exciting? No way. It was insanity is what it was.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," said Malcolm with a little chuckle. "You're focusing on the pain. That's understandable. But I want you to focus on the release. Feel those lustful thoughts leaving your body."
Desperate to get some relief from the agony in my legs, I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else but the fact that I was tied to a post in an old barn, bleeding all over the ground. For some reason, my thoughts turned to my time on the Kent private beach, the last time I'd truly felt happy and at peace.
Surprisingly, even as Malcolm began whipping me again, I found that pretending I was on that beach was reducing the pain. The roar I could hear in my ears became the gentle crash of the waves on the shore, and the discomfort I was feeling was simply from spending too much time under the hot sun.
And then I slowly began to realize that I wasn't just imagining that I felt better. I opened my eyes and saw that Malcolm had put down the whip and was no longer striking me. Instead, he had taken his dick out of his pants and was stroking his fully erect shaft. What fresh torture was this?
"Oh God, yes," moaned Malcolm.
"Please Malcolm, I'll do whatever you want," I whimpered, my whole body trembling in fear of what he was going to do to me next.
"Oh this is nice, isn't it?" said Malcolm, his eyes glassy as he continued to jerk off. "Yes, yes, this brings back so many memories!"
Now there was no doubt whatsoever in my mind that he had gone off the deep end. What kind of pervert gets turned on from whipping someone until their legs are streaming blood?"
"I remember my father whipping his stableboy when he'd incorrectly saddled his favorite horse," said Malcolm, his eyes unseeing as he continued to stroke himself to completion. "I was hiding out in this very barn, as a matter of fact. It was quite a sight, let me tell you."
I let out a groan, utterly terrified.
"My father really laid into him," said Malcolm, a twisted grin on his face. "And when it was all over, I ran out from my spot to go tend to his wounds. Yes, how strange. His legs looked exactly like yours. Isn't that funny?"
It wasn't funny at all. It was sick and twisted is what it was!
"He was such a sweet boy, only spoke a little English," said Malcolm, lost in the reverie of his bizarre memory. "His family was from Mexico, but he had the kindest eyes with long, beautiful eyelashes."
I had no idea what kind of sick upbringing his father had inflicted on Malcolm, and I didn't care.
"I kissed his wounds to make it all better. I saved him, don't you see?" said Malcolm, now only inches away from my face. "And now I am going to do the same for you."
My skin began to crawl as I tried to back away from him.
Malcolm then fell to his feet and began kissing my legs, licking up the blood even as he continued to jack off. It was all so wrong and sick that I felt my stomach heave, but there was nothing I could do to get away from him.
"Pain and pleasure, they're just different sides of the same coin. You see that now, right?" said Malcolm, looking up at me.
At that point, I began to think I was hallucinating again. There was no way that Malcolm Kent, the world-renowned billionaire and successful businessman, was on his knees in a dirty barn, masturbating as he licked blood off my legs. It just wasn't possible.